Chapter Text
Kallus hated how much the cold affected him. He hated how it reminded him of the many Star Destroyers he had served on. He hated how it made his nose slightly runny in a way that nothing could alleviate, the way his lips chapped, and the way his hands would crack when they got too dry. He had already despised the cold before, but now it made the bones in his leg ache where it had broken on Bahryn too? Hoth was certainly not his ideal location for a rebel base. Yavin IV was awfully hot and muggy, but at least it didn’t make him miserable.
The only warmth he’d managed to find on Hoth was a large, purple, fuzzy humanoid who had a penchant for getting into Kallus’s personal space. The first time Zeb has thrown a friendly arm around Kallus on the ice planet, the smaller man had practically melted into the warmth. Zeb didn’t mind that reaction at all. They had decided to share a room (Hera needed her space on the Ghost with Jacen, now, Zeb reasoned), which led to them sharing a bed (Kallus had insisted that it was the best way to stay warm), which led to their nightly cuddle sessions. It had become such an important ritual for the lasat that he would get grumpy on nights when Kallus would come back late. Kriffing workaholic. Zeb would still prepare hot cocoa for them both as soon as Kallus arrived, and bring the human close into his arms whenever he had the chance on those nights. They didn’t have a label for it at all, but sleepy conversations while wrapped tightly in each other's arms clearly meant something to them both.
The warm weight missing from his bed was one of the many things Zeb had grieved. Kallus had been pulling his stupid hero shenanigans again, his kriffing savior complex, trying to prove himself as an asset to the Rebellion. He’d gotten himself blown up, and saved thousands of lives. He and Zeb both knew that Kallus had already proven himself a million times over. He and Zeb both knew it would never be enough to rid him of his guilt.